


Bloodied Tulips

by Effluvium



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effluvium/pseuds/Effluvium
Summary: FAR FROM HOME SPOILERS STOP READING IF YOU STILL HAVEN'T SEEN IT YOU'VE BEEN WARNEDMay was giving him strange looks from the kitchen, her Parker-brown eyes narrowed in suspicion."There's a tulip field about a mile outside of the village you're in.  Meet you there?"





	Bloodied Tulips

**Author's Note:**

> the title came into my head and I had to write something based on it. definitely a little rushed and not amazingly put together but I'm glad I got it out there hah.

Happy didn’t know what to think, the moment after he hung up on Peter. Even in the maybe five-minute call, the exasperation and exhaustion could be heard as clear as day. The situation already felt like it was unraveling without any control.

May was giving him strange looks from the kitchen, her Parker-brown eyes narrowed in suspicion.

_“There’s a tulip field about a mile outside of the village you’re in. Meet you there?”_

It’d seemed simple enough, really; a mile was nothing for Peter, wouldn’t even make him sweat. But then he’d hesitated, and it was unnerving because Peter was never _tired_ , always having too much energy than he could properly expel.

_“Yeah, okay… how long?”_

And that had been chilling too, because he sounded _so_ tired and _so_ pained that the response of _a few hours_ was nearly too difficult to deliver.

“Happy? You alright?”

He looked up; Ms. Parker was now in front of him, sitting on the coffee table. Her long hair was braided down her back and her hands were grasping his, small and delicate, but strong. Peter had her eyes, that deep, calming brown.

“I’ve gotta go do something.”

Why was he keeping this from her? She already knew about Spider-Man. She knew the dangers.

“Is it about Peter?” Her voice was a pitch higher, brows slightly lower on her face. Grip tighter around his hands.

“Yeah.”

“Is he alright?”

Heart-pounding, Happy lied, “Yeah, he’s fine, just needs some help.”

The plane’s engine rumbled behind Happy, all too loud in the expanse of flowers. The stems were relatively tall, many almost reaching his knees, swaying in the wind like corn stalks. It was serene.

“Peter?” His shout echoed, the miles and miles of colors repeating his words back. There was no response. He walked, sifting through the orange and pink, shouting again and again until he came upon them.

The bloodied tulips.

“Hell…” they continued on for a few hundred feet, the stems and tulip heads spotted red, eventually becoming drenched, bent from being walked through. The red was getting all over his suit and his hands, sticky and unnerving. Horrifying.

Almost more horrifying than Peter himself.

He was curled on his side, bloody and broken, eyes half-lidded. He’d fallen in the tulips, breaking their stems and creating a crater for his prone form. Breaths were coming out in small, gasping wisps, as if he had a crater resting on his chest.

“Peter, oh my… Peter, wake up.” Happy knelt down next to his face, pushing the oily curls out of his eyes. “Peter, please… ah, fuck it.”

As wary as he could be of the numerous injuries, Happy lifted Peter bridal-style, running back to the jet. There was blood soaking his shirt and it felt wrong, chilling; with this much jostling Peter should’ve woken by now.

“Alright, Pete,” he heaved, gently laying Peter on the uncomfortable pull-out twin, “why the fuck are you bleeding so much?”

There was a large gash in his side, which seemed to be healing. Smaller, shallower cuts were littered everywhere else, and his hip and leg were still in the process of repairing themselves.

Happy pulled out a large towel and held it against the large gash; stitching would be too difficult at the rate it was already healing. Looking towards his hands, he felt nauseous, a ball forming in his stomach. The red stains were going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Tones, how’d you do it?” He mumbled, letting out a breath. “This is insane. Absolutely insane. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Tones. A sixteen-year-old New-Yorker bleeding out to death in a tulip field. In the Netherlands. Fucking ridiculous.”

Happy didn’t know what to make of Peter’s eyes; they were screaming a sort of distant, prey-driven fear, pupils dilated and eyelids pulled back in rapt attention, watering from the strain. He’d sat up immediately, propped himself on his arms and stared, unmoving.

“Peter?” Happy approached, confused. “Everything alright up --”

For the one step he took forward, Peter shot backwards, rolling off the bed and backing up to the end of the jet, slightly hunched over. He was shaking, effort rolling off of him in waves, sweat running in beads down his neck. 

“Peter?”

“Stop,” he finally rasped, gulping, holding a hand up; it was entirely defensive and nonthreatening. “Tell me something. Something only you would know.”

“Something I…” Happy racked his brain, trying not to notice how Peter began looking around for an escape as he hesitated on an answer. “When we were in Germany, Tony gave you his card and you bought a film -- it didn’t have the titles, but I could tell by the price that it was an adult --”

“Okay, shit.. shit.” He collapsed on the floor, heaving, wiping at his eyes, gritting his teeth with every movement. “Happy, I’m… I’m so glad its you. I’m so glad you’re here, oh my…”

“Peter,” Happy sat down in one of the chairs, “what happened?”

Peter laughed, hysterical. “I got hit by a train, Happy -- he tricked me! He, he used this technology and warped everything I could see and put me on a fucking acid trip and he…”

“Peter?”

“He’s got their names.” The sixteen-year-old clenched his fists, biting his lip and shooting his large, brown eyes frantically around the jet. “I… he looked like Fury, I thought I was talking to Fury, but it wasn’t and he’s got Ned and MJ and Betty and he’s going to _kill them_ \--”

“Peter, calm down.” Happy rested his hands on his shoulders. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Calm _down_?” He shot up off the ground, breaths shaky, shoulders heaving. “Happy, he’s going to go and destroy half of Europe. He’s got E.D.I.T.H., he’s got my friends, I can’t… I can’t do this, Happy.”

“Peter?”

He turned his bruised face, eyes heavily lidded.

“You know how the technology works now, right?”

A nod.

“Then you can take it down.” Happy motioned for him to sit. “You just need to find out where he is.”

Peter tapped his foot aggressively, not quite making contact. “I’ve already failed, and yet everyone’s expecting me to take Mr. Stark’s place. To be the next Iron Man. I can’t _do_ that, I don't ...”

“You’re never going to be Iron Man, Pete. You’re going to be Spider-Man, and grow past Tony’s legacy. He’d be proud of you, and he wouldn’t expect any of this from you. Place faith in yourself.”

**Author's Note:**

> yeah I definitely wanted to end this differently, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! also obviously the dialogue isn't exactly as it was in the movie but again this kinda came as a whim so I didn't really feel like looking into the script too much.


End file.
